


a fantastic way to kill some time

by darlingargents



Series: Season of Kink Bingo 2020 [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Post-IT (2017), Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25304056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents
Summary: Buying weed from Patrick Hockstetter was probably not Richie's best decision.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patrick Hockstetter/Eddie Kaspbrak, Patrick Hockstetter/Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patrick Hockstetter/Richie Tozier
Series: Season of Kink Bingo 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773196
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84





	a fantastic way to kill some time

**Author's Note:**

> For the Season of Kink bingo square **Smoking/intoxication**. Set two-ish years after the movie, Patrick is about 17 and Eddie and Richie are about 15. Title from Handcuffs by Brand New (thanks to H for the suggestion!)

Patrick might not be the best dealer in Derry, but he’s certainly the cheapest, and he knows his reputation precedes him among the younger highschoolers. He dropped out in sophomore year, two years ago, but they still come up to him when he’s working at the arcade. They’re easy to spot: eyes downcast, faces red, knowing they’re doing something they shouldn’t be.

He doesn’t mind. There’s a reason he’s the cheapest: it’s by far the worst weed. But none of them know better, and they only have ten dollars they stole from their parents, so he’s their best choice. He’s filling an important niche in Derry’s economy.

There is some stronger stuff in his supply, though. And some… _special_ stuff. But he saves that for a select few.

One of that select few, as it turns out, is Richie Tozier.

He sees Tozier near the end of his shift, seven in the evening on a Saturday night, when he’s just about to hand off the keys to the closer. Tozier has that look on him, hands shoved deep into his jean pockets, walking slowly up to the counter and looking in every direction but Patrick’s.

When he gets close, Patrick snaps his fingers in Tozier’s face, and he jumps. Patrick smiles, satisfied, and leans against the back counter. “What’re you looking for?” he asks.

Richie rubs a hand over the back of his neck, going red. “Um,” he says, “I heard you have some… uh. Some stuff.”

Unimpressive, but Patrick will take it. He stands up a little straighter and looks Richie up and down. He’s still a scrawny kid, but he’s growing up and filling out. And Patrick’s still pretty sure he had him pegged from seventh grade: the kid’s a queer and terrified of it. Patrick has had more than a few decent jerk-off sessions thinking about Richie’s mouth around his cock.

Yeah, he thinks Richie is one of the special ones.

“You want weed,” he says, and Richie flushes bright red. He nods once, quick, and glances around as if waiting for a cop to spring up out of nowhere. Patrick resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t have anything here, but I’m out in ten. Meet me by my car out back.”

Richie nods again, spins around on the heel of his ratty converse, and beelines his way out. Patrick watches him go, and grins.

*

It had been the usual, boring tradeoff: Richie as worried-looking as before, and Patrick handing over the pre-rolled stuff. “A treat for you, first-timer,” he’d said, and Richie had looked nervous again, even as Patrick told him he was getting a discount. Semi-true: it was around the regular price for regular weed, his normal markup taken off.

It was not, however, the regular price for what the two joints in the bag actually contained. That was expensive shit. But the way Patrick thought about it, it wasn’t for Richie: it was for him.

“When are you gonna smoke it?” he’d asked as Richie tucked the bag into his pocket and he put the money in his wallet. “Tonight?”

Richie had nodded. “My parents are out of town,” he’d said, and then looked away, as if regretting speaking. As he probably should’ve. Patrick had suppressed a grin; he didn’t want to scare Richie _too_ much.

“Have fun,” he said, and got in his car. He watched Richie walk away, lit a cigarette, and drove home to find a phonebook.

 _Tozier, Wentworth_ , and an address, is easy to find. He finds the house on a map, and settles in to wait.

At eleven, he shoves a bottle of lube in his back pocket and heads back out to his car.

True to Richie’s word, there are no cars out front of the Tozier household, and the only lights on are in one room upstairs. The trellis outside it is sturdy and climbable, and not visible from the road, so Patrick climbs up it and peeks in the open window. He can smell the weed from here, and the spicy-sweet tang of the other stuff. Yep. He’s timed it right.

There’s Richie, passed out on the bed, the joint abandoned on a china plate on his nightstand and still smoking a little. And there’s—

Patrick has to bite back a completely delighted laugh. Richie’s not alone on the bed. Next to him, flushed and shirtless and also passed out, is Eddie Kaspbrak. Who has always pinged Patrick’s gaydar just as much, just slightly more on the side of aggression than Richie’s self-hatred.

If he had to hazard a guess, at least one of the people in this room harbours a crush on the other. Which only makes what’s about to come a whole lot better. Patrick pushes the window fully open and climbs inside.

What he mixed with the weed is his own special concoction, a mixture of sedatives and aphrodisiacs. So they’ll both be passed out, but also hard. He can see the slight tent in both of their boxers. It’ll get worse once he starts fucking them. He hasn’t done this many times before — it’s a bit more elaborate than he usually prefers — but when he has, it’s always been excellent.

With these two, he’s sure it’ll be far better than anything that he’s done before.

Patrick decides to start with the angry one.

He picks up Richie — not easy, considering how gangly the kid’s gotten in the last couple of years — and carries him across the room to the couch, depositing him carelessly. His glasses are hanging half off his face. Patrick takes them off and tosses them onto the dresser, out of the way, and returns to Eddie, whose mouth is slightly open as he snores.

Patrick undresses him quickly, pants and underwear and socks, and positions him better on the bed, hiking up his thighs. Eddie is loose and pliant and his little pink cock gets harder as Patrick manhandles him into place. When Patrick lubes up his fingers and pushes them in, he moans, low and desperate, writhing against the sheets. He pushes back against Patrick’s fingers, fucking himself open, even completely passed out.

It’s impressively slutty. Patrick’s never seen anything like it.

It doesn’t take long to get Eddie loose and open for him, and Eddie clearly wants it, even passed out. His fingers are clenching in the sheets and he’s whimpering deep in his chest, begging for it. Patrick has to stop to get quickly undressed; his cock is so hard in his jeans that it almost hurts, and it’s a relief to free it. He immediately climbs back up onto the bed and shoves his fingers back inside Eddie, who whines softly again.

His blush goes down to his chest, and on instinct, Patrick leans down to take one of Eddie’s nipples between his teeth. Eddie lets out a gasp, hips jerking up and his cock brushing against Patrick’s chest, as Patrick rolls the nub between his teeth and jabs at it with the point of his tongue. When he pulls back, Eddie’s nipple is red and slick with spit and Eddie is frantically rolling his hips up, trying to get any kind of friction. He pushes his fingers back inside, deep and fast, and Eddie cries out, his eyes rolling behind his eyelids.

Patrick wonders if he’s dreaming. If he thinks someone else is doing this to him. Maybe even Richie. Wouldn’t that be sweet.

He pulls out his fingers, lines up his cock, and buries himself to the hilt inside Eddie, hiking up his scrawny little legs and practically folding him in half as he does so. Eddie is goddamn tight and feels like a fucking dream, and Patrick just stays inside him for a moment, feeling it. Eddie cries out again, clenching around Patrick’s cock, and that feels even better. Patrick bites his lip and starts to move, fucking Eddie into the mattress, the springs creaking painfully as he does so. He wonders, vaguely, if Richie ever had trouble staying quiet while jerking off with springs like this.

It’s irrelevant to this point. The point being: Eddie feels unbelievably good, and even passed out, he moves along with Patrick unconsciously. Patrick knows he’s not going to last, so there’s no point in pacing himself. He fucks Eddie harder, faster, and Eddie’s breathy gasps and clenching around his cock are enough to send him over the edge, far quicker than he planned. He buries himself in Eddie and comes hard enough to see stars, and notices that Eddie is coming too, entirely untouched, across both of their stomachs.

For a moment, Patrick just breathes, recovering, and then he pulls out. Come drips out of Eddie’s fucked-out hole, and Patrick pulls aside one of his asscheeks to look. He wishes he’d brought a camera, but he thinks he’ll remember this anyway.

His most immediate arousal temporarily sated, he does some mental math as he waits to get hard again. (Ten minutes, he thinks, from his past experimentation; the third teen he sold this to, he fucked twice in a row and got out as he started to blink awake.) They were both unconscious when he arrived, the joint still smoking; they had to have passed out fairly recently, maybe ten or fifteen minutes before. It usually lasts thirty to forty minutes, in Patrick’s experiments with the dosage. Eddie is still entirely out of it even after being fucked, and Richie—

Patrick glances over. Richie is drooling on the couch, and faintly snoring.

Yeah, he still has a bit of time. There’s a slight chance that Eddie, being a bit smaller, will wake up earlier, but not enough to worry about. There’s still time. He spots a bag of Cheetos and some various gas station candy bags scattered over the bedside table, and helps himself with his clean hand as he waits, sitting on the bed next to Eddie’s fucked-out and drugged body.

Nine minutes later, by Richie’s clock, he’s finished the Cheetos and half of the candy, and he’s hard again. He shoves one last Mento in his mouth and repositions Eddie on the bed, laying him across the foot, and goes to get Richie. He puts him diagonally, and as he undresses him, he considers moving Eddie out of the way to the couch. By the time Richie’s socks are off, he decides against it; he wants to keep looking at Eddie. He’s never noticed him much before, but fucking him was something else entirely; he thinks he might want to seek this kid out again.

If he were anyone else, he might say he had a bit of a crush. But he’s not. It’s a fascination with how Eddie managed to be such an incredible lay while passed out.

Richie isn’t quite as responsive as Eddie was, but he still moans softly when Patrick slides two fingers inside him, rocking down against them in tiny motions of his hips. His half-hard cock fills out quick — he’s bigger than Patrick expected. He’s panting, his mouth open wide as Patrick works his fingers in and out of his ass. Patrick experimentally reaches up and sticks two fingers in Richie’s mouth, against his tongue. Richie gags at the intrusion and moans around his fingers, and Patrick grins, scissoring his fingers inside Richie’s ass faster as he slides his other fingers across Richie’s tongue.

When Richie feels good and ready, he reaches for the lube to slick up his cock, and pauses. There’s still a spray of Eddie’s come against his chest. He wipes his hand through it and rubs the stuff over his cock. He pushes painfully slowly inside Richie, and as he bottoms out, Richie jerks, hard, his hand jumping up.

Patrick pauses. This does not seem like normal behaviour for this drug; he hasn’t seen it before. Richie’s eyelids flutter, and then he stops moving again. Slowly, Patrick starts to move, keeping his eyes on Richie’s face. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he wakes up, he supposes; there’d still be enough weed and sedatives kicking around his system to keep him down and Patrick would still be able to finish. It would be a bit of a pain in the ass, though.

Well. Not his ass, at least.

Patrick hikes Richie’s legs up, deepening the angle, and fucks him faster and deeper. Richie’s cock bounces with the thrusts, slapping against his belly, sticky with precome. Patrick is getting close when Richie clenches hard around him, and he looks back at Richie’s face.

Richie is blinking awake. Richie is looking up at him in complete and total horror, blanching. His face is in total contrast to the rest of him: his cock still hard, he’s still moving along with Patrick’s thrusts. “Hockstetter?” he slurs. “What…”

Patrick sighs. Well, he really needs to finish now. “Shut up, I’m almost done,” he says, and speeds up again. Richie tries to move, tries to kick him, but his limbs aren’t working quite right yet.

“What the fuck,” he groans. “What… the fuck did you do?”

“Get with the fucking program,” Patrick says. Goddamnit, Richie’s mouth is not what he wants to hear right now. “I am fucking you. Got it?”

“What the fuck,” Richie says again, and tries to pull away again, unsuccessfully. Patrick rolls his eyes and pulls Richie closer. Richie looks around, and sees Eddie beside him, still passed out. “What the _fuck_. What did you do to him?”

There’s real anger in his voice, even through the drugs; that’s a bit of a surprise. Or maybe not. Maybe he really does give a shit about Eddie. “What do you think?” he asks, and he sees the exact moment that Richie fully gets it, glancing between Patrick and Eddie and the cock in his ass. He dramatically pales again, which seems like it might be a circulation problem, considering his cock is still hard and Patrick is still fucking him without a problem.

“No,” he says, “no, fucking hell, no—” and tries to escape again. He seems to be gaining strength and coordination, and Patrick actually has to grab him this time to stop him from pulling all the way away. He hadn’t planned on having to fight for the end of this, but at least it’s actually interesting. “What did you fucking give me?”

Patrick is kind of surprised he managed to put the pieces together so quickly. “Just a little something. First timer’s gift.”

“You fucking—” Richie tries to take a swing at him. Patrick lets it hit: Richie’s fist bumps into his shoulder and bounces off. It looks like Richie might actually be crying.

The thought of that is enough to send Patrick over the edge and he groans, burying himself in Richie and closing his eyes as he comes again in slow pulses. By the time he comes back up, Richie is wriggling like a worm on a hook, a new strategy. It’s decidedly uncomfortable, which maybe means it’s working. He pulls out, spares a quick glance at his come in Richie’s ass, and leans down to take Richie’s cock into his throat. Richie shouts, but Patrick doesn’t relent, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard enough to get Richie off after only a few direct licks on the head of his cock. Richie comes down his throat with a pained shout, and when he pulls off, Richie is fully sobbing.

Eddie is starting to move, too, and as Patrick stands up and wipes his dirty hands on Richie’s sheets, Richie sits up. He sways in place, and looks at Eddie, at the come across his chest and coming out of his ass, and a fresh bout of sobs starts up. “No, no, no,” he gasps, burying his face in his hands, as Patrick gets dressed. The sounds of his dramatic sobbing are starting to get tiring.

Eddie moves again, and blinks, and reaches for Richie’s hand. Patrick watches as they link hands for a brief moment before dropping, and Richie turns to Eddie.

“What…” Eddie says, and groans in pain, a slow hand moving to his forehead. “I didn’t know weed did that…”

“It doesn’t,” Patrick says, and Eddie’s eyes slowly focus in on him before narrowing in anger.

“The hell’re you doing here?” Eddie slurs, and Richie, who seems to be almost back to normal functionality, stands up on shaking legs.

“Get the _fuck_ out!” he screams through his tears, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

“Fine. See you around,” he says, and leaves the same way he came, out the window and down the trellis. He can’t hear what’s happening in the room he’s leaving behind, but he can imagine it: Richie apologizing over and over. The angry little slut getting pissed and deciding to do something about it. Well, if he does, it can only be a good thing for Patrick. He wants to play with Kaspbrak again. The kid’s more interesting than he could’ve hoped for.

In his car, Patrick lights up another cigarette, and looks back at the house. He can’t see anything through the curtains on this side of Richie’s room, but he can keep imagining: they’re getting dressed, cleaning up, refusing to talk about it. Or maybe they’re confessing their wonderful love for each other. If they are, Patrick probably deserves the credit for that.

Not that they’d give it to him. Ungrateful bastards.

He smokes the whole cigarette, watching the house, until it’s out. He tosses it in the cupholder of his car and starts it up. As he drives away, he glances back in the rearview mirror, and the light in Richie’s room clicks off.

“Good luck,” he mutters, and laughs.


End file.
